And a relief. Judith’s widow’s portion and dowager properties—insured by her husband’s will—remained in the estate for the time being, as she saw no reason to separate them. All in all, a huge estate for the young couple to manage. But Judith had taken over the duties herself when barely more than a girl, and they would learn as they worked, just as she had.
Besides, she had other things on her mind.
One of those things now gave a sleep-laden snort. Perry shifted but did not awaken.
Judith’s mouth pinched. Perry had been a frequent visitor to her bed over the last year or so—since she had shed her widow’s black—and he knew the rules, one of which was that no one stayed past dawn. While the entire household knew Judith had nighttime visitors, she never wanted to spread the details in front of them or provide the gossips with too much information to bandy about. No matter what people thought they knew, Judith had been discreet and private.
Repressing the urge to poke her errant visitor, Judith propped up on an elbow and looked at the clock on her mantel. Almost seven. Too early for the nobility in the household, although the servants would be up and moving about with their morning chores. They would breakfast at half-past seven... the perfect time for Perry to make his exit.
Also a good time for a quick jaunt upstairs to the nursery. Judith pushed back the covers and stood, shivering in the chill of the room as she retrieved her night rail and dressing gown from the floor and slipped into them. She noted both had been victims of their bed play—the night rail had a tear and the sash of the dressing gown hopelessly knotted—and Judith reminded herself to mention the repairs to her maid. She grabbed a ribbon to tie back her mussed hair and left the bedchamber, pulling the door firmly closed behind her hard enough to waken Perry but not the rest of the house. With a sly grin, Judith turned toward the nearby servants’ stairs and padded upward.
The stairwell held the scrumptious scents of fresh-baked bread, fried onions, and gammon drifting up from below stairs, and Judith’s mouth watered as her hand slid along the rail, polished smooth by generations of servants. She had not eaten much at the lackluster supper at last night’s ball, and her stomach rumbled as she pushed open the door to the fourth floor. The carpet here felt thinner than the ones on the floors below, but still a comfort to her chilled toes.
She stopped in front of the nursery door, listening. Sweet giggles sounded from behind it. Her baby boy, William, the last one in the nursery at almost four. Smart, rambunctious, and keenly observant, he had left his toddlerhood behind, making her heart ache every time she noticed something new in his growth—which seemed to be each and every day. She knocked lightly on the door, then entered.
In the far corner of the room, William and his nurse sat at a low table, sharing small bits of food. Nanny stood, eyes wide. “Your ladyship!”
“Mummy!” William dashed toward her, some kind of dark jam spread across both cheeks.
“My jammy boy!” Judith squatted, gathering the child into her arms. “You are so big these days!” William giggled, bouncing on his toes, and hugged her, sharing his jam with her shoulder. And hewastall, much more so than either of his brothers at four. She could no longer scoop him up the way she loved to do without risking her back.
“You are too early!” He gave a quick pout. “Nanny will be upset.”
Judith swallowed a laugh. “I suspect she will be more upset with your waste of good jam.”
Nanny trotted after him, a serviette flailing in one hand. “Oh, my goodness! I’m so sorry, my lady. We were not expecting you so early.”
“See!” William grinned.
Judith held out one hand for the serviette and used it to clean her son’s cheeks, then her dressing gown, as she smiled at the young woman. “No reason you should. So few of us rise this early. But I was awake and didn’t want to wait for this morning’s visit.” She handed the cloth back, smoothed William’s ruffled ebony curls, and kissed the top of his head. “I had to see my beautiful boy.”
William again giggled and squirmed.
Nanny gave her a knowing smile. “You are missing your George.”
Judith’s chest tightened. She patted William’s back and urged him to return to his food. As he skipped toward the table, she straightened and nodded at Nanny. “I still think he was too young to be sent off to Eton.”
“He is twelve, my lady. Some go much younger.”
“Which is a travesty. We send our boys away too soon.” Judith pressed a finger to her trembling lips, her gaze lingering on William. “George was barely past his father’s death.”
“I know how hard that was for him. Master Robert seems to have fared better.”
Judith straightened and composed herself. “He was eight. It affected him in a different way.” She looked at the nurse again. “Do you speak to Mr. Thompson much about Robbie’s studies?”
“Only in passing. But he seems to be doing well.”
Judith nodded and gazed at William again as he munched on a crunchy piece of jam-coated toast, replacing the recently cleaned smears on his cheeks. As he chewed, he bounced a tiny wooden horse on the table, as if it were cantering through the park.
Judith sighed. Her precious boys. She and the fifth earl had waited until Edmund and Daniel had matriculated to Eton to have children, with George born less than a year later. Robbie had come along two years after that, and William another six years later, after two losses. Too long. William would never know his father, and Robbie would have scant remembrances, if any.
But no one, not even their family physician, had realized how ill the earl had been. He had hidden that—as with much of his life—from everyone, even his wife and his heir. A good man but remote with all things, even his heart, especially after his time overseas, fighting in the colonies. Judith had learned todeal with the memories and nightmares that had haunted her husband, but she remained determined that her sons would not be so distant from those who cared about them. And she prayed they would never have to go to war, never have to deal with the evil that warfare did to good men.
Thus her frequent visits to the fourth floor.
“Mum?”
Judith turned. Robbie stood in the door of the nursery, his dark eyes still bleary with sleep, his nightshirt loose and rumpled on his thin frame. Judith smiled and went to him, rubbing his shoulder. “How is my sleepy one?”
